


Seduction and Longing

by jeejaschocolate



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Generally disregards the dichotomy of good and evil, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Bondage, Multi, Seduction, Threesome - F/M/M, dom!Lúthien, some canon divergence, starts as sex, turns into a story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Written for a prompt on the kink meme) When Lúthien's song fails to put Morgoth to sleep, she and Beren have to use other methods to subdue him. But seducing the Dark Lord has its own consequences...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the prompt this was written for: "(Because I am a twisted person and really, really want someone to write this pairing.)
> 
> So Luthien and Beren have to fall back on Plan B after their original plan to gain a Silmaril somehow fails. And Plan B entails seducing Morgoth."
> 
> Thanks for suggesting this Anon! I fell in love with this pairing immediately and realized that this story had to be written. Hope you enjoy!

Lúthien cursed herself. She should have known this would fail, that a spell of darkness would not work on him.  
  
So it seemed she and Beren had come waltzing into Angband only to be foiled. Lúthien stood before Morgoth, the Enemy, Bauglir the Constrainer, the Dark Lord himself, with no magic to aid her.  
  
She had reached deep inside her well of magic to conjure the sleeping song, the most powerful she had ever manifested. And yet the web of darkness strung from her voice, the words that flowed like sweet, thick honey upon the ears, had all come to naught. Morgoth had sensed her purpose and listened without hearing. He simply absorbed the dark spell into himself and reduced it to mere shadows that bounced off the throne impotently. There was nothing she could do.  
  
The song faded and Lúthien was left to face Morgoth in renewed, unsettling silence. Now she was only Lúthien, daughter of Melian, lover of Beren for whom she would fight until death took her...and beyond.  
  
At least they were together. They had already discussed the possibility of being left weaponless before Morgoth. So they knew without speaking what needed to be done.  
  
They would do what they could.  
   
Morgoth sat upon his thrown and regarded Lúthien smugly. His crown of Silmarils shimmered tantalizingly in the darkness, just out of reach. Sensing that his opponent was flustered, Morgoth widened his eyes in crazed victory.  
  
“Is that all, Lúthien?” He threw his head back and laughed. When his laughter turned to sputtering, Morgoth composed himself and narrowed his coal black eyes in Lúthien’s direction. “How disappointing. I had expected more from you, who so easily defeated my lieutenant and brought Tol-in-Gaurhoth to the ground.” The Enemy sighed in feigned disappointment.  
  
“What a shame to have your future so readily before you...” At this, Morgoth rubbed a finger against his lips thoughtfully. “Yes, I have no choice but to make an example of you before Thingol and the rest of your kind.” He smirked. “You will be brought so low, locked away in the agony of my dungeons until all the light of Varda has been smote out of you, the beauty you inherited from your mother turned to ash on your face until you are nothing more than an orc in the eyes of the world...”  
  
But Lúthien knew that defeat was not yet upon her. Instinct was telling her that there was a way out.  
She looked to the form of Draugluin that had accompanied her to Morgoth’s throne room. Upon that glance, Beren abandoned the wolf body that cloaked him. He rose as a man and moved to stand beside his beloved.  
  
Morgoth raised an eyebrow in surprise. “So. You have brought a man to my throne as well. Your lover?” His jaw dropped for a moment as an idea struck him, then he laughed again and cried, “Perfect! You will see him torn to pieces before your eyes, so easily does the flesh of a man turn into pulp, as you will soon know...”  
  
Beren stared at Lúthien as Morgoth listed all the horrible things he would do to them. In that moment, the man saw only her, only his beloved for whom he would risk even this. He looked into her grey eyes and knew her thoughts. He knew what Lúthien was planning to do, their last attempt at victory in this hellhole. Sensing that Lúthien was, in a way, silently asking permission, Beren nodded.  
  
He trusted her. This would work. And he would bear no grudge against her or against himself. They would survive, that was all that mattered.  
  
In a show of solidarity, Beren reached over and grasped Lúthien’s hand. He squeezed once in reassurance, even gave a small smile to display confidence he did not truly possess at the time. Lúthien stared back and seemed to calm somewhat. She knew she had his support, whatever would come.  
  
Lúthien surreptitiously dropped Beren’s hand. She turned back to Morgoth, vigor and determination written on all her features.  
  
“Oh Dark One,” she began, in a clear voice that belied her heritage as partly Maian, “We do not come here today as usurpers. We have no desire for your throne or your kingdom. Instead, this man and I want only to offer you something that it seems you need desperately.”  
  
Morgoth fought back another dry laugh. “What would the likes of you deign to offer me? I know who you are, Beren son of Barahir. Your father gave me much trouble on a time, but he died as easily as the rest in the end. Do you remember, Beren? Were you there to see it happen?”  
  
Feeling Beren’s temper rise, Lúthien put a hand on her lover’s shoulder to calm him. She continued to press Morgoth.  
  
“Spirit from the outer realms, who has known time before time,” she called, “We offer you something that perhaps you do not know you require, or perhaps that you have admitted to yourself only in secret thought.”  
  
Now Morgoth was slightly intrigued. “And what is that? What do you presume to know that I need?”  
  
Lúthien took a step forward, boldly. She knew she was right. When Morgoth had absorbed her spell, he had unintentionally allowed her to see into his mind. For that brief moment, it was as if Morgoth’s thoughts were her own, and Lúthien was given a glimpse into the Dark Lord’s very soul. What she found there was quite unexpected.  
  
If she could have guessed beforehand, Lúthien would have said that inside Morgoth’s soul there would be only malice, pure and simple. And yet, when it happened, Lúthien saw instead pain, fear, and the most intense longing she had ever known. Such longing,  to possess everything in Arda and more, longing to be given recognition that Morgoth felt was owed to him, longing for power beyond all comprehension, as well as a deep-seated desire for things that a flesh body wanted. When she felt this bitter, uncompromising feeling that was the Will of Morgoth, Lúthien understood. Such was his fate, she realized, to be tormented by desire unfulfilled, covering up his wants with pride that became more and more wounded as time wore on.  
  
Now Morgoth wanted to know what she knew, and she had only to say it plainly to break him.  
  
“Comfort,” she said casually, as if it were the most natural, obvious thing. “Comfort such as your body has long desired.” When Morgoth seemed startled, Lúthien smiled a bit and continued. “Yes, I have seen what you desire, Morgoth Bauglir.” She narrowed her grey eyes into a piercing stare. “I know.”  
  
Morgoth gripped the arms of his throne in a sudden rage. How did she...? The Vala felt pinned by her unforgiving eyes, as if he were laid bare in the basest way possible.  
  
She knew. Somehow this songstress had seen his weakness.  
  
Through clenched teeth, Morgoth struggled through his panic to give some kind of reply. “You would dare...what could you possibly know about...”  
  
Lúthien took another step closer to the throne. Now she had a clear view of the scars that marred Morgoth’s face. She had been surprised by his body since she first laid eyes on him. The way everyone talked, Lúthien had assumed that Morgoth would be a demon of some kind, the monster out of a nightmare perhaps, hideous and terrible to behold. Instead, Morgoth appeared to be little different from an Elda, resembling faintly some of the Noldor with pale skin and dark hair. Yet unlike the Noldor, Morgoth was lean and spindly. She could see the outline of his form beneath his robes and discerned hardly any muscle. Curufin would have called him puny, even. And yet, Lúthien had seen the power housed within that body, such that he could reduce her most potent magic to nothing. Morgoth was still strong in a fearsome way, but his body betrayed the fact that he had fallen far.  
  
“Accept our entreaty,” Lúthien said, allowing her body to look relaxed. “You need only do  nothing. Beren and I...” She glanced back at her lover. “...we are quite skilled. We will show you the ways a flesh body can be enjoyed.”  
  
Before Lúthien finished talking, Beren walked directly up to the throne so that he was within reach of Morgoth. The Dark Lord seemed completely incredulous that the man would come so close, and so he did nothing but gape as Beren kneeled before him.    
  
Beren pushed all thoughts of his father and dead family out of his mind. He was eye level with Morgoth’s hand gripping the armrest, so he reached out and gently brought the Dark Lord’s hand to his mouth. Morgoth flinched when he was touched, trying to pull away on instinct, but Beren ignored that and began laying soft kisses on the backs of Morgoth’s fingers.  
  
A shiver ran through Morgoth’s body when Beren’s lips touched his skin. The Vala gasped in response before he could stop himself. Beren heard him and smirked against the chilled skin at his lips. Excitement started to kindle within him at the thought that Morgoth was, surprisingly, very sensitive to touch, even to something as small as this.  
  
Emboldened, Beren turned over Morgoth’s hand to kiss his fingertips. When Beren saw the black, burned flesh on the Dark Lord’s palm, he paused for a moment. The wound looked very painful. And there was something alive about it, as if the mark still smoldered even though it was no longer touching its source.  
  
“You are wounded,” Beren said, risking a glance upward to look at Morgoth. The Dark Lord’s eyes were wide with anticipation and also, Beren saw, fear. Realizing that Morgoth honestly feared him in that moment, Beren’s chest swelled with conflicting emotions. Without thinking, he continued.  
  
“Allow me.” Beren laid a kiss in the center of Morgoth’s palm at the heart of the burn scar. Morgoth let out a choked sound in response, whether in pain or pleasure Beren could not tell. He knew only that he should continue. Beren slowly ran his tongue along the blackened flesh, instantly dizzy from the savory taste of it.    
  
At that, Morgoth moaned out loud. Upon hearing himself, the Vala closed his mouth tightly, ashamed that a mortal had forced such a sound out of him, and from so little contact. He tore his hand away from Beren’s grasp.  
  
“Impudent cur!” Morgoth spat out to Beren, but his voice was shaking slightly. The feel of Beren’s tongue against his skin had stirred up all the feelings that Morgoth tried constantly (without success) to suppress. His damned physical body responded to Beren immediately, starving as it was for attention. Morgoth’s hand still tingled and the feeling radiated outwards until his whole body was alight with arousal. He closed his eyes to try to steady himself.  
  
Morgoth felt Beren’s hand against his own again, laying kisses once more as if nothing had happened. When the Vala opened his eyes to confront the man, he found himself face to face with Lúthien. He had no idea when she had managed to come so close...  
  
“Let us touch you,” Lúthien said in voice so smooth that Morgoth felt himself relaxing somewhat even against his will.  
  
Morgoth said nothing in response, only let Beren continue kissing him as the man slowly made his way to the Vala’s wrist. The sight of Lúthien directly in front of him was overwhelming. Her eyes captured his own until he could see nothing except her and her irrepressibly beautiful form.  
  
He could not fight this, the Dark Lord realized. He could barely manage to hold back the whimpers that threatened to spill out because of Beren’s gentle ministrations. Underneath his robes, Morgoth felt himself grow hard.  
  
Lúthien looked down at the form of Morgoth shivering in unavoidable pleasure upon his own throne. She knew that he was enjoying this immensely, she could see the outline of his arousal between his legs, but his face looked strained as if this was also a great torment to him. She would have to change that, for Lúthien herself had no desire to torture Morgoth, even though he probably did deserve it. But no, she wanted the Vala to feel only pleasure at the hands of her and Beren, even if that pleasure was so intense as to drive him to lose control.  
  
Lúthien ran her hand down Morgoth’s face, the side of it that was heavily scarred. She stroked his cheek with her thumb and said softly, “We want only to bring you pleasure, oh great spirit. Give yourself to us and you will know such satisfaction...”  
  
She slid her hand downward, stroking his neck down to his chest. She promptly pulled back the partings of his robe to reveal some of the body beneath. More scars stood out against pale, cold skin. Holding her breath suddenly, Lúthien ran her fingertips across Morgoth’s bare chest, marveling at how slight he was. She grazed his nipples softly with her fingernails and Morgoth moaned again, eyes closing against the sensation.  
  
Lúthien brought her hand downward still, tracing his stomach lightly, until she reached his thighs. Each part of the Dark Lord trembled beneath her touch. She pulled back his robes even farther, exposing his arousal to her and Beren, who looked on from where he knelt. Morgoth made a sound that showed he was embarrassed, so Lúthien and Beren moved quickly to comfort him, Beren by licking more of the burn mark on his hand and Lúthien by stroking Morgoth’s aching cock from base to tip in one slow, fluid motion. Morgoth cried out at the double dose of stimulation, twitching from head to toe.  
  
Lúthien smiled. The Dark Lord was theirs now, hers and Beren’s. And they were both excited by what would come next.  
  
After exchanging glances, Beren and Lúthien moved to stand on either side of Morgoth. They hoisted him to his feet and undressed him, yet they made no move to take off any of their own clothing. Instead Lúthien positioned herself in front of Morgoth with Beren behind him.  
  
She locked eyes with Morgoth briefly and then reached upward to slip the crown of Silmarils off his head slowly. The Vala tensed in response and raised his arms in an act of small defense, but Beren turned Morgoth’s chin towards himself and kissed the Dark Lord full on the mouth. The feeling of having his mouth ravished was so intense that Morgoth could do nothing but shakily hold onto Beren’s wrist and return the kiss.  
  
They were both panting when they broke apart, crown of Silmarils successfully forgotten. Morgoth stared at Beren as if trying to read his thoughts, but Beren looked back towards Lúthien who straightened up after stashing the crown into a hidden place. She stood in front of Morgoth and together they eased the Dark Lord backwards until he rested flush against Beren’s chest. Then the two sat back down on the throne, this time with Morgoth sitting in Beren’s lap, held into place by the man’s sturdy embrace. Lúthien knelt on the floor in front of the throne. She smiled up at her companions, truly enjoying the sight of the Dark Lord wrapped in her lover’s arms.  
  
Morgoth fixed his eyes on Lúthien’s genuine smile, unsure how to read the gesture but still strangely comforted by the sight of it. He felt dazed, unable to focus on anything except the throbbing of his cock and each fleeting sensation across the expanse of his carnal body.  
  
Lúthien ran her mouth along the insides of Morgoth’s thighs and Beren kissed up and down the long, pale neck in front of him. They stroked and teased him until it seemed Morgoth could withstand no more.  
  
Finally Lúthien brought her mouth against Morgoth’s cock, kissing delicately against the shaft until she came to the tip. Then she licked once along his head, reveling in the full, almost otherworldly taste of him, thick on her tongue.  
  
Beren could see Lúthien pleasuring Morgoth from his angle. Instead of being repulsed or even jealous, as in the past he would have thought such a sight could only make him feel, Beren was wholly turned on. Lúthien was beautiful in everything she did and he knew how skilled she was in the art of giving pleasure. It aroused him to think that Morgoth was experiencing that for himself. Beren’s own cock was fully hard now, and he knew exactly what he wanted.  
  
Lúthien wrapped her mouth around Morgoth’s arousal and pinned the Vala’s hips downward so that he could not buck into her. She wanted total control over this act and she knew how eager the Dark Lord was for release. If she let him move, it was liable to be over too soon.  
  
Beren wet some of his fingers by sticking them in his own mouth, trying to get them as slick as possible. When he thought he it was sufficient, Beren shifted Morgoth’s body and legs so that the Vala’s entrance was exposed to him. Carefully, Beren ran his wet fingers against that sensitive spot, pushing gently inside so that Morgoth could get used to the sensation.  
  
The Vala started when he felt Beren’s fingers and realized what the man was doing. “You...” he sputtered. “You would...?”  
  
Beren kissed the side of his face and pushed further in. Morgoth moaned and reached backward to tangle his hand in Beren’s hair. He was shocked that the feeling of being penetrated could be so satisfying and he felt his spirit flutter internally against the walls of physical body, preparing for what came next.  
  
Lúthien let Morgoth slide out of her mouth for a moment. She enjoyed the sight of Beren unlacing his trousers to bring out his own needy member. She could tell the instant that Beren pushed his cock inside Morgoth because she saw the both of them gasp and visibly tighten against such sudden pleasure. On Morgoth’s face, Lúthien could see also pain, so she stroked along his thighs again to help him relax.  
  
When Beren and Morgoth had developed a steady rhythm, Beren lifting his hips upward with Morgoth moving back and forth as his body told him to do, Lúthien knew it was time.  
  
The elf songstress stood up, lifted her dress, and dropped her underclothes. In one graceful leap, she jumped into Morgoth’s lap, straddling both him and Beren at the same time. She was wet, of course she was, everything had been quite exciting for her in truth. Grabbing hold of Morgoth’s arousal, she lifted herself up and forced the Dark Lord inside of her. She rocked her hips. With each thrust, she moved the three of them back and forth.  
  
Morgoth’s face twisted into an expression of indescribable pleasure, close to the boundary of bliss at such an overload of sensation. His cock was completely surrounded by Lúthien’s wet, glorious center, and he was pierced to the core by Beren’s length. Something within the Vala began to shift. He felt himself reaching the edge, squeezing his eyes closed in anticipation...  
  
Sensing that Morgoth was close to climax, Lúthien stopped moving. For a moment they all just reveled at being connected in such an intimate way. Then Lúthien called to Morgoth in a firm voice.  
  
“Melkor,” she said. His eyes snapped open. “Come.”  
  
Morgoth heard Lúthien’s command and felt again pierced by her grey, crystalline eyes. He lost himself to those eyes and came.  
  
Caught between the bodies of Lúthien and Beren, Morgoth rode out his climax. It seemed the general climate in Angband itself changed with him. Suddenly it was unbearably hot in the throne room, as if the heat from Morgoth’s body had suffused itself into the open space of his fortress. Lúthien did not climax, but Beren did, surrendering to the building heat and burying his face against Morgoth’s neck with a heavy cry.  
  
Lúthien watched the both of them with appreciation. She made no move to change their positions until Morgoth finally reopened his eyes, panting and exhausted from his orgasm. He looked up at Lúthien with an expression of tired wariness. What would they do now that they had finished with him...?  
  
So Lúthien leaned in towards Morgoth, burying his member still deeper inside of her. She whispered into the Dark Lord’s ear, “Now sleep.” The words were infused with a small bit of her usual sleeping spell, but she hardly needed it. Lúthien stroked Morgoth’s face soothingly as his eyes closed. Within seconds he was fast asleep, collapsed against Beren’s torso.  
  
Finally, Beren and Lúthien regarded each other over Morgoth’s shoulder. The Dark Lord was clearly incapacitated now, they could do what they came for. Yet the two lovers did not share a smile nor did they rejoice even amongst themselves. The situation seemed different now, somehow.  
  
But they wasted no time in getting to work. Beren pulled out of Morgoth and tucked himself away. Lifting the Dark Lord (with surprisingly little effort), Beren moved away from the throne and sat Morgoth back down alone. The Vala remained asleep, looking unintentionally peaceful even though his physical body was completely debauched. Lúthien gathered her underclothes and fixed herself.  
  
“Do you have it?” Beren asked her hurriedly, forcing himself to look away from the strangely enticing form of the relaxed Morgoth.  
  
“Yes, right here.” Lúthien retrieved the crown of Silmarils from its hiding place (quite simply on the floor next to the throne, just out of sight from where they had all made love) and gave it to Beren. The man took out Angrist immediately, digging the knife into the crown to pull the central Silmaril out from its grasp.  
  
Lúthien looked over at Morgoth while Beren worked. She was suddenly overcome by an intense wave of sympathy. She grabbed Morgoth’s discarded robe and covered his body with it, so that the Lord would not be left naked and utterly helpless on the seat of his throne for his creatures to find him.  
  
“Should we take them all or just the one?” Beren asked.  
  
“Just one.” Lúthien responded immediately, her gaze fixed on Morgoth.  
  
The question became irrelevant as Angrist broke upon the Silmaril’s release. Beren admired the jewel only briefly before heading towards the exit and urging Lúthien to follow him.  
  
“Come on!” he called to his lover. “Let us end this at last.”  
  
Lúthien closed her eyes for a moment. She had a foreboding sense that her feelings were rooted far deeper than pity or lust, but she could not think about that now. She looked up again, resolutely this time, and rejoined with Beren.  
  
They grasped hands at the door. “Let’s go,” Lúthien said, allowing herself to smile reassuringly. And so they left.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seducing Morgoth comes with consequences, and actions that need to be taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two. If there are any noticeably strange parts in this, that's just my own insanity at work.

The Quest for the Silmaril continued as it was meant to. They were married in Doriath, but only briefly before Carcharoth claimed Beren’s life at the end of the chase. Lúthien could not say that she ever regretted going into the Halls of Mandos to retrieve her husband, nor could she lament the mortal body she chose so that they could be together. It was all worth it. And the way that Beren looked upon her once they found themselves reborn...she knew that he felt the same.  
  
So they resided in Tol Galen as two mortals, staying out of the affairs of Doriath and letting Thingol preside over the matter of the Silmaril. Lúthien had a feeling that no good would ever come from that jewel, she could sense what it did to the minds of others, how its beauty warped all reason and turned good will to greed. Personally, she wanted nothing to do with it.  
  
They were happy in Tol Galen. The Green-elves who claimed that land welcomed them easily. They lived off the beauty of the isle, unburdened by material things. For the most part, the Green-elves left Beren and Lúthien alone. They were free to do as they wished.  
  
Days passed. Eventually weeks became months and so on into years. The passing of time felt strange to Lúthien. As an elf, whole decades passed without interest, the turning of the seasons seemed a fleeting and distant affair. As a mortal, each day lingered on into infinity. She could not stop time, so each moment would have to count as much as a whole lifetime in and of itself. This way her and Beren would spend many lifetimes together and then some.  
  
Yet, there was within Lúthien a nagging feeling that she could not be rid of. Even in the beauty of Tol Galen, thoughts of the past clouded her mind until she could do naught but recount things she was not quite at peace with.  
  
Somewhere in her thoughts, either in the back of her mind waiting to resurface or in an all-consuming wave that left her meditative, there were always the memories of what they had done in Angband. She could not forget Morgoth, the way he had yielded to them so completely in a moment of overwhelming honesty and neediness. Lúthien had not felt that leaving him like that was the right thing to do ethically speaking (even though that had to be craziness, she told herself, Morgoth was an everlasting enemy of her people and of Middle-earth itself, they were lucky to have gotten out at all...). Nor could she tell her body to forget the memory of her and Beren enjoying Morgoth like a creature worthy of affection. As a result, no matter how hard she tried, she could never see the Dark Lord as anything other than a creature of abject loneliness and longing. And there was more, oh so much more, that she would do for him...  
  
Beren was well aware of her feelings. They did not keep secrets from each other. Every time Lúthien’s thoughts turned to Angband, she would share them with her husband and he would listen. Often Beren would tell her to forget all of it, especially once he heard about the part of her that craved more.  
  
“It is folly, my love,” he would say. It was always night when they talked of this, the two of them sitting around a dwindling fire and speaking in whispered tones. “Your guilt is misplaced. It is a waste to exhaust yourself with sentimentality over one such as...him...”  
  
Yet Beren could never bring himself to name Morgoth. In all honesty, thoughts of what they had done lingered with the man as well. He would never forget the feeling of a Vala’s body trembling around his cock...sometimes the thought would bring him to unbidden arousal. Lúthien knew this too. On occasion, their discussion of Morgoth would turn into retellings of their moments of ecstasy, and they would talk to each other of such things until they were driven to make love, memories and desires rolling off their tongues as they did so.  
  
Seducing Morgoth had been a good plan. It worked as well as it needed to, as well as it could have considering the circumstances. Yet doing so had left a mark upon Beren and Lúthien. Their feelings were forever altered from that point on until they could do nothing but accept the fact that they longed for him now, as if somehow Morgoth’s untamable will had seeped into their beings. Or perhaps, this longing was the only logical consequence that would befall anyone who experienced pleasure with a being so strangely enticing as Melkor-Morgoth. It was not clear why they felt as they did, but after years of living with secret desire (of forcing themselves not to look at each other whenever anyone called them the “foes of Morgoth”), they decided what needed to be done.  
  
The way to Angband would not be as difficult this time. No one would go looking for them.  
  
___________________________________________________  
  
Under the darkness of the Tol Galen night, they departed. They took provisions and a horse, as much as they thought they would need. No weapons (though Beren hid a dagger underneath his tunic because he could not abide the thought of being totally defenseless). They lamented that Huan was not with them; his presence was sorely missed.  
  
The journey took several months due to the fact that they now lived in the complete opposite direction of the northern fortress. Many times on the trip Beren urged Lúthien to agree to turn back.  
  
“My love,” he began, “Must we continue? This is a fool’s journey if ever there was one.”  
  
“Hush.” That was all Lúthien ever said. Her mind was made up.  
  
“What’s to stop him from killing us on sight the second we near the fortress?” Beren asked, speaking his thoughts honestly while he fingered the paltry dagger under his clothes. “Moreover, how will we be able to enter the fortress at all? I would prefer to keep all my limbs this time...”  
  
“Beren.” Lúthien’s face became serious. “Hush.”  A silence settled over them before she continued softly, “He will not kill us. Trust me, trust yourself. You remember the state of him last time? It will be the same, I’m sure of it.”  
  
Of course Lúthien had no way of knowing how it would be once they came upon Angband. In truth, their plan was actually poorly thought out, but Beren eventually stopped asking questions. He knew that his wife had decided and that there was no way to persuade her after that. So Beren turned his thoughts to the journey and allowed himself to accept whatever fate would bring. He was not entirely against the idea, after all he had agreed to go, and in fact there was some of that old joy to be on the road again, journeying as they did in the past. Even the fear of probable danger was pleasurable in its own way. It made them both feel truly alive for the first time since they had been reborn. Besides, life in the wilderness suited them well.  
  
When the River Gelion split into two routes and they passed into the mountains, Beren and Lúthien cast aside all doubt. They moved ahead with purpose, and quite quickly, finding many shortcuts on their path to Angband that had yet been unfound. The climate around them soured and became unpredictable, with bouts of bitter cold that twisted suddenly into unbearable heat. They had passed through all of this before and were not daunted.  
  
Finally the fortress of Angband loomed before them. Lúthien and Beren grasped hands and approached. They found themselves unhindered at first, no wolf to apprehend them. Lúthien had only to lay her hand against the stone of the fortress whereupon it seemed to shiver and suddenly they found an entrance that looked like it had always been there. They regarded each other curiously. A crack in the wall, they assumed, for they could not know what forces were at work in such a dark place.  
  
Inside the darkness of the stronghold, Beren and Lúthien stumbled until they came upon a lighted tunnel. A lone orc was patrolling the tunnel with an uninterested air about him. His feet echoed loudly against the stone and he did not hear when Beren approached him from behind and grabbed his shoulder. The orc jumped with a high-pitched cry. He turned around only to find the impassable face of Lúthien staring back at him. He remembered her.  
  
“Take us to him,” Lúthien commanded. There was no need to qualify whom they were looking for.  
  
The orc stared at her with wide eyes, glancing between the two mortals with apprehension. He smelled their human blood and reasoned that he could probably overpower them alone, but what would the Master say...? Would the Lord want to face them Himself, and would he, the orc, be rewarded for succinctly bringing them to Him?  
  
Deciding on a possible reward instead of a fight, the orc shrugged Beren’s hand off of him and pointed down another tunnel. “This way,” he said with a sneer, assuming that Melkor would surely rip the flesh off their bones. Maybe he would get a taste of the female to savor...  
  
The orc led them to a room that was secluded from the rest of the fortress. Here there was a foreboding door that looked like it would not allow the touch of any living creature, such was the aura emanating from it. The orc squealed out some strange sounds Lúthien and Beren could not understand. The door creaked open.  
  
Without waiting for permission, Lúthien and Beren followed the orc inside. The sight that greeted them was unexpected to be sure, but after a long journey with such a singular goal, it was strangely welcome.  
  
Morgoth stood in front of a large hole in the middle of the room with flames leaping out of it. It was impossible to tell what purpose the pit served, but it was fairly menacing on its own. The rest of the room was mostly bare, except for, bizarrely, a large bed towards the far end. An actual bed. Beren did a double take when he saw it, surprised that a thing of such mortal comfort would have a place in Angband.  
  
The orc kept his head bowed and spoke to his Lord, who was staring into the fire with his back turned to the three of them. “I found these two wandering the tunnels, my lord. What should be done with them?”  
  
“Two mortals?” Morgoth said, very uninterested, without turning around. “I sensed them enter some time ago.” He sighed. “Bring them to Sauron, trespassers are his problem, why would I care...”  
  
“B-but...my lord...they are...” the orc stammered, visibly shaking, totally unsure how to contradict his own Master.  
  
Finally Lúthien spoke, in the same manner she always did, with Maian resolution ringing in her voice.  
  
“It is us, spirit. We have returned.”  
  
At the sound of that unmistakable voice, Morgoth spun around to face Beren and Lúthien. He had been holding something in his hands, but it dropped into the fire as he was startled. On the Dark Lord’s face was a look of pure shock and unadulterated rage, every feature trembling with barely contained emotion.  
  
“You...” he growled so low that the candles around the room flickered and almost went out. A darkness seemed to creep into the space, lengthening the shadows all around. Seeing his Lord’s mood deteriorate so drastically, as well as the flames from the pit beginning to roar in response, the orc scampered out of the room at a full run. All memory of reward forgotten, the snaga just wanted to escape with his hide intact.  
  
Now they were left only the three of them in that bizarre room, which Beren was beginning to think served as a personal chamber of some kind. Could it be Morgoth’s chamber?  
  
Neither Beren nor Lúthien gave into fear. They stood solidly while Morgoth began to hiss, the very image of hatred and anger.  
  
“You...” the dark Vala sputtered. “You would...come back here...after all this time...?”  
  
“Yes.” Lúthien grabbed Beren’s hand and looked upon Morgoth with a smile of all things. “We have returned to Angband because--”  
  
“Because of what?!” Morgorth demanded. He moved towards them quickly. Well, as quickly as he was able. Lúthien and Beren had not seen him walk the last time. Now they noticed that he was hobbled and walked with a distinct limp.  
  
Face to face with Lúthien, the Dark Lord snarled, “You have come back for WHAT?! More trickery? Or have you come for the rest of the Silmarils? Not satisfied with one, you must take them all from my crown?!”  
  
Lúthien shook her head. “No, we are not here for the Silmarils this time. We want only to--”  
  
Before she could finish, Morgoth grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. He was choking her slowly, but his arms shook and his grip was fairly weak at first.  
  
“Lies! All lies! You have come back with more...betrayal...” The Dark Lord tightened his grip as he spat out that last word. Watching his agonized face while she choked, Lúthien was certain she saw his eyes fill with tears.  
  
Beren reacted on instinct. He reached into his tunic for the dagger hidden there. Even though Lúthien was rapidly losing air, she extended her arm out to Beren to stop him. The man held the knife in front of him and looked back and forth between Morgoth and Lúthien, unsure if he should act or not.  
  
Fighting the urge to close her eyes, Lúthien lifted up her hand with great effort to rest it against Morgoth’s face. She saw deep hurt in his expression, disguised as hatred, and she cursed herself for bringing such pain upon him.  
  
Lúthien’s soft touch on his skin caused Morgoth to gasp in spite of himself. She had changed somewhat, she was mortal now...but her eyes were the same. Those intense grey crystals...Morgoth had often dreamt of them. Sometimes he woke in a flurry of panic after a nightmare spent pinned under that gaze. Sometimes he woke in a haze of lust at the memory of Lúthien looking upon him with desire in her eyes...  
  
Morgoth let go of her throat. Beren ran to her side as she fell. Grateful and breathing heavily, Lúthien latched onto her husband. They exchanged a look, wary but happy to have survived the Dark Lord’s first reaction.  
  
Morgoth turned away from them, but they could see that he was holding a hand against his face where Lúthien had just touched. The Dark Lord was furious with himself for reacting. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go, not how he had envisioned his sweet revenge against these two traitors.  
  
“As I was saying,” Lúthien began again, voice slightly ragged now. “We have returned for one reason. That is, you, Melkor.”  
  
The Vala flinched at how she used his name, remembering the sound of it so clearly from her mouth. He looked back at Beren and Lúthien, seeing that they had huddled together and were staring at him.  
  
“I believe nothing you say. You would use more tricks to take something from me, something else this time...something more...”  
  
Even as he spoke, Morgoth felt his anger weakening. Unfortunately, that gave way to other emotions he had not been ready to deal with. Namely, humiliation and pain at the way he had found himself betrayed after their last meeting, waking up naked with all the eyes of his court staring at him curiously...the memory made him want to burn Lúthien and Beren with fire. But he could bring himself to do nothing except stand there trembling with a thousand conflicting desires.  
  
“What could you have that we want?” Beren asked pointedly. “We have already taken a Silmail, the Quest is over. What else would we desire? Your servants? This place, Angband, a living hell? No. We want only one thing, you must surely know what that is...”  
  
“It is no small thing,” Lúthien added to her husband’s logic. “But no painful thing, either. Never that. It will be different this time, you will see, for there is nothing in our hearts except the desire to show you our affections.”  
  
Morgoth stared at her with scrutiny. Lúthien continued, “Yes, our affections are sincere. Let us show you how deep they run...”  
  
She stood and took a few steps towards the bewildered Vala. He stepped backward, farther away from her. With a heavy sigh, Morgoth sat down on the edge of the bed at the far side of the room. It was a silent acknowledgment of his weaknesses, mortal and comfort-driven as they were. He rested his face in his hands wearily.  
  
“I see. So you have come for more of my dignity, then.”  
  
Hearing the note of defeat in Morgoth’s voice, Lúthien and Beren walked directly over to where he sat. Lúthien kneeled on the floor in front of the bed and Beren stood behind her.  
  
“No, Melkor,” Lúthien said, her eyes fixed on Morgoth’s face, willing him to look back at her. “We do not want to take your dignity, never have we desired such a thing. You are free to give or not to give, whatever you choose. We are not here to humiliate you...” She touched his elbow lightly and he dropped his hands from his face to regard her with trepidation. Lúthien smiled up at him.  
  
It did not have the desired result. Morgoth sighed again and looked away, twisting his body so that they were not so close.  
  
“Why?” he asked in a voice suddenly very small. “Why must you pester me? Why can’t you just...leave me be...”  
  
For that Lúthien had no answer. Beren looked on, wondering if they had come all this way for naught, but Morgoth spoke again.  
  
“What is it you want?” he asked, more directly this time, looking in Lúthien’s general direction but failing to make eye contact. She could sense the Vala’s resolve bending to her will and that filled her with excitement.  
  
“Comfort, just as I said the last time.” There was an amused gleam in Lúthien’s eyes. “We want it as much as you do. Is it so terrible a thing?”  
  
“Hmph,” came Morgoth’s reply. He seemed agitated, but there was something feigned about it. Indeed Lúthien sensed that he was more open than his hunched body showed.  
  
Without waiting any longer, Lúthien took action. “Here, let me see this,” she said. She lifted the hem of Morgoth’s robes and grabbed his right leg. Tracing the scar on his calf downward, she found the obscene mark of the wound Fingolfin had left on him when the Noldo stabbed the Vala in the foot. This was the source of Morgoth’s limp. She pressed her palm against the scar, wincing internally at how his every move must pain him. How wretched he must feel to walk like a cripple, even though he would most certainly deny any such feelings.  
  
Morgoth saw her pity. He sneered in response. “You are mortal now, songstress. And no elf magic could have healed that mark...”  
  
“Healed, no. It is true.” Lúthien caught Morgoth’s mocking gaze and smiled back just as arrogantly. “And so we must do what we can.” Keeping their eyes locked, she brought his foot to her mouth and began licking the scar on his sole with relish. The Dark Lord shivered and gasped in response, twisting his leg unintentionally at the strange sensations he felt from Lúthien tongue. Slight pain, with deep pleasure, and also...another strange feeling...?  
  
Beren smiled as he watched Lúthien tickle Morgoth with her tongue. That had certainly caught the Dark Lord off guard. He sat down on the bed and ran a hand through the Vala’s black hair. Before Morgoth could whip around to face the man, Beren kissed the side of his forehead. He trailed his mouth to Morgoth’s ear and licked the outer shell teasingly. Morgoth moaned at the myriad of new sensations. Lúthien was nibbling at his toes now and he kicked his feet, unable to control them. Beren’s warm breath and tongue against his ear made Morgoth’s whole body crumble until he was laying flat on his back, bending his head to Beren’s mouth for more contact.  
  
There was something about these unexplored places on his body, Morgoth realized, that connected directly to his cock. He was already unbelievably hard beneath his robes, and his hips twitched upwards seeking some kind of friction.  
  
“I...” the Dark Lord began, unable to say anything more than a loud moan when he felt Lúthien’s tongue slide between his toes. He wanted to yield, this unexpected pleasure was almost overwhelming, but he did not want it to stop...  
  
Suddenly Lúthien pulled her head away. Morgoth grunted without thinking, missing her contact instantly. In one movement, Lúthien straddled Morgoth’s hips where he lay. She turned her head to Beren, who was kneeling alongside them now. They gazed happily into each others eyes and shared a deep, passionate kiss. It was clear how familiar they were with each others bodies after years of intimacy and marriage; the kiss seemed very satisfying for both of them.  
  
Morgoth watched them enjoy each other, feeling strangely left out even though Lúthien was on top of him. He thought about himself, his own lingering existence as a Vala dedicated to chaos, and wondered if such intimacy was a thing he could experience or even come to understand...  
  
Lúthien broke away from Beren and looked down at Morgoth. Her eyes were alight with desire and Morgoth’s cock twitched in response. She bent her body downwards until she was flush against the Vala’s body, their faces almost touching. Morgoth moaned at the feeling of being covered by Lúthien’s incredible body...he wanted to touch her, explore her all over, know every part of her and claim them for himself...  
  
“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” Lúthien whispered into his ear. Morgoth nodded, not caring anymore about denying this.  
  
“Do it, then,” she challenged him, bringing their mouths close, but keeping hers just out of reach so that Morgoth would have to close the distance himself.  
  
They passed a few moments in silence, without movement. Morgoth was trying to will himself to kiss her, unsure of how to begin, tormented by thoughts of how much he despised sentimentality, yet afraid somehow of being inadequate at this...  
  
Beren saw Morgoth hesitate. Deciding to speed the process along, he placed the Dark Lord’s hands on either side of Lúthien’s back, guiding those hands to feel the outline of her beautiful body. He knew Morgoth appreciated the shape of her.  
  
Running his hands up and down Lúthien’s form, Morgoth lost himself to desire. He wanted to feel her lips against his, could not think of anything else, and so he closed the distance and kissed her. Lúthien kissed him back with as much passion as she thought the Vala could handle. Sure enough, Morgoth’s lips were soon trembling against hers. Slyly, she slipped her tongue into his mouth to explore, and Morgoth responded by snapping his hips upwards again with stifled moan.  
  
When Lúthien pulled away, Morgoth could do naught but stare up at her in a daze. He recognized himself enthralled by her, by that sincere, glorious kiss, but he did not know what to do about it. He watched her climb off of him and suddenly he felt apprehension, unsure what they would decide to do now that his desire had been laid bare again.  
  
“Watch us,” Lúthien said simply. She began unlacing her dress and motioned for Beren to disrobe along with her. The two mortals undressed slowly, with Morgoth’s eyes on them the whole time flicking back and forth between their equally desirable bodies. When they stood completely naked before him, Morgoth drank in the sight with awe. He had not seen their naked forms last time and now he felt sorely how much he had missed. They were breathtaking, individually of course, but together...the Valar alone had never created anything as beautiful as this (even himself, who knew only destruction after all).  
  
Beren’s strong, well-muscled torso, with thin but heavily veined legs that displayed pure virility...his member, swelled and at attention under Morgoth’s approving stare... Lúthien’s graceful outline, her voluptuous but proportionate breasts, the curve of her delicate stomach...the smattering of dark hair between her legs that hid a place of great interest to Morgoth...  
  
He wanted them. He wanted to touch and to taste everything, feel the give of flesh beneath him and around him, everywhere. He wanted to know their intimate secrets as his own...In fact, he required this more than anything. And it lay before him, very much within his grasp...  
  
“Come here, Melkor,” Lúthien offered, extending a hand in his direction.  
  
Without a second’s hesitation, Melkor scrambled off the bed to join them. They assisted him in taking off his robe because the Vala was so aroused that he fumbled with it in his haste. Finally the three of them were naked and wrapped in each other’s arms. They kissed each other in every available place, reveling at the feeling of multiple sets of hands and mouths to attend to needy places that had long desired this. Time seemed to slow and then suddenly mattered not at all as they pleasured each other.  
  
When Melkor came back into his senses, he was on his knees, hovering over Lúthien’s bare body as she lay on her back on the bed. Beren was behind him, licking a long stripe up and down Melkor’s spine, sending tingling sensations outward across his whole carnal form.  
  
He stared at Lúthien and she stared back with confidence. Easily but with purpose, as if this were something she had been saving to say to Melkor specifically, she said, “I want you inside of me. Now.”  
  
With a furious cry, Melkor entered her. The feel of his aching length surrounded by her wet heat was even better than he remembered, somehow, and Melkor knew he had only a few thrusts before he would climax without hope of holding back. The air around the three of them was already kindling with humidity as Melkor’s spirit prepared for his body’s release.  
  
Beren pushed inside the Vala, finding with surprise that Melkor had not needed any preparation. He had been ready without it. From where she lay in true ecstasy, Lúthien wrapped her legs around Beren’s back, pulling him deeper inside Melkor which caused the Vala to penetrate her more fully as well... They were all entangled now and they moved as one.  
  
Driven mad with pleasure, Melkor was the first to come. Beren followed with an exhausted moan, but Lúthien lingered without climax, as she had the last time. She did not want to let go of her two lovers, she wanted to keep them entangled as long as possible, so she kept her legs wrapped tightly around the two of them.  
  
“My love...?” asked Beren after a time. Melkor had collapsed onto Lúthien’s chest. “Will you remain unfulfilled?”  
  
Knowing Lúthien, Beren was aware that bringing his wife to orgasm was fairly difficult. Often when they made love, Lúthien would not climax and she would simply content herself to have brought Beren pleasure, for even she herself found the process tedious at times.  
  
Not this time. This time, she would come. She had already decided that this was to happen.  
  
Lúthien unwrapped her legs from the two of them with some reluctance. “Melkor,” she called. The Vala lifted his head in response. “Bring your mouth against me,” she commanded him.  
  
So Beren and Melkor moved away for a moment to settle into a more suitable position. Melkor relished the thought of licking Lúthien’s most treasured place, and so she found his mouth eager and quite satisfying as the Vala explored her most sensitive spots. Melkor figured out quickly which areas got the most reaction, and Beren was right behind him giving directions on what to do with his tongue and his fingers.  
  
Lúthien grappled the sheets and twisted to and fro as she withstood the intense pleasure. Her toes curled and she found herself sweating as if this were a novelty. She could not remember the last time it was this intense...Melkor’s mouth was so different from Beren’s, there was an energy about him that aroused her so thoroughly...  
  
When she came, the world around them seemed to clench and release in appreciation. Beren was hard again at the sight of Melkor’s head between his wife’s legs and Lúthien’s obvious enjoyment. But he told himself to calm and instead moved to straighten the panting Vala so that the three of them could lay side by side.  
  
They were all on the edge of sleep. Before he gave in, Melkor rolled closer to Lúthien so that he could rest within her embrace. He had not intended to look so vulnerable, but he was beyond the point of caring.  
  
Smiling, Lúthien wrapped her arms around him and said, “Fear not. We’ll stay.”  
  
In truth, Melkor had not doubted it.

They slept together that night and many nights after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, don't ask me about those shortcuts to Angband, guys. I was just trying to think of a way to make the journey from Tol Galen to Angband less agonizing. Damn that's far on the map. Let's just say that Beren and Luthien love traveling, and of course, they love giving it to Melkor ;).
> 
> And yes. Melkor's desire is chaotic, as it was and ever shall be!
> 
> Next chapter is the wrap up! Woohoo! (I'm enjoying this story so much.)


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, short vignette style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last part gets fairly schmoopy, but that is always where it was meant to go :)

Days and nights rolled by without distinction in Angband. Here was a place where the sun never shone, surrounded on all sides by rock and mountain to block out the light of the sun that caused the creatures within the fortress physical harm. Beren and Lúthien, for their part, adapted as much as they could. In a way, the unnatural darkness was a relief from the never-ending, increasingly grating, serenity of Tol Galen.  
  
Besides, the bed of Melkor kept them quite comfortable.  
  
After making love, the three of them would linger together for a while. Every now and then, Melkor would run a hand over parts of the two other bodies in his bed. He marveled at the way their flesh allowed his touch. Lúthien and Beren sighed under him, happily granting him whatever touch he desired to give.    
  
In truth, there were many questions left unspoken between them. Eventually, after another round had left them all indolent, Melkor decided he could wait no longer for answers. He raised his head, tearing himself away from its particularly comfortable rest on Lúthien’s stomach.  
  
“You are...” he began, looking down at Lúthien with a curious gaze that was uncommon for him. “...mortal. I have never seen such a thing before, an elf turning into a mortal maid. You must have gone to Valimar yourself to see it done. Is that so?”  
  
Lúthien explained all that she had done and why.  
  
Upon hearing Mandos’ name, Melkor cringed a little and looked away from her, as if embarrassed.  
  
Knowing the history between these two Valar, Lúthien said, “Námo made no mention of you.”  
  
She had meant it reassuringly, but Melkor seemed angry. He clicked his tongue. “As if he has forgotten...that unbearable fool...”  
  
Lúthien laughed suddenly, startling Melkor out of his grumbling.  
  
“Well,” she said. “We were happy to have been reborn together, at least. They offered me a choice and gave me what I wanted.” She glanced over at Beren with twinkling eyes.  
  
“But...” Melkor said, confused now. “You lost all your power...”  
  
Lúthien sighed, creating a small moment of silence. Then she shrugged and responded whimsically, “The things I do for love.”  
  
Beren grasped her hand and kissed it.  
  
“Besides,” she continued. “Not all my power was lost. I’m still a woman, am I not?”  
  
At that, Beren laughed with mirth. But Melkor did not. The Vala simply looked down with a furrowed brow.  
  
The crown of Silmarils hung carefully on a mantle across the room. Melkor eyed it for a moment. There were some questions he did not want any answers to. Like for example, what they had done with the Silmaril they took.    
  
“So, what purpose does this room serve?” Beren asked, unaware of Melkor’s reverie. Beren wanted to make sure there was not a chance that they would be intruded upon by any of the other hellish creatures that resided beyond the door. Yet even so, Beren found himself hardly afraid of any monstrosity that they might find here. After all, what creature would challenge the will of the Dark Lord? It occurred to Beren that he now considered himself a part of that will. Strange...  
  
“This is...one of my rooms,” Melkor responded, looking away again. He knew he was admitting yet another weakness, but he could not think of a reason to withhold the truth. “I...often come here. To rest.” The last words rushed out of his mouth almost too fast to understand.  
  
“Well, you managed to find a bed that is the most comfortable I have felt in all my years.” Beren stretched out languidly. True, he was not used to comforts, being mostly accustomed to life in the wild. But this...this was decadence.  
  
Decadence in hell, the man thought. Well, it made sense anyway.  
  
“And the fire?” Lúthien asked, eyeing the mysterious pit of flame. “What purpose does that serve?”  
  
“The fire is there for my own devices.” Melkor ambled to his feet and walked over to the pit. While the two looked on, the dark Vala reached into the flame and pulled out a handful of embers. Slowly, Melkor exhaled onto the sparks and suddenly there burst forth a strange golden flame that was black at its core. Lúthien and Beren had never seen anything like it.  
  
“Fire is essential for anything I can create,” the Dark Lord explained. Melkor rolled the flame in his hands and it moved along his skin following his every movement. An image of a monster appeared in the flame, Balrog-like and terrifying, something new that had not yet been seen within Arda.  
  
Petulantly, Melkor swatted the image away. The fire returned to embers. “Though it has been some years since...” He trailed off.  
  
Tossing the embers back into the pit, Melkor sighed and returned to sit on the edge of the bed. Lúthien sidled up to him. The Vala’s face was unreadable, but Lúthien discerned no small amount of pain from the way he held himself. She put her hand on his chest.  
  
She would alleviate this pain as well. “I have seen for myself where your power lies.”  
  
Lúthien trailed her hand downward to rest one finger against Melkor’s, now familiar, member. He hardened against her touch though her finger remained still. She kissed his lips softly and then looked back at him.  
  
Melkor was grinning at her. A new, slightly intimidating sight. But Lúthien found herself drawn to him still.  
  
The Vala leaned close to her and whispered, “There is more. The fire is also comforting to me in a way. Would you like to experience that as well?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer, Melkor extended his hand towards the fire. He drew his arm back towards himself, pulling a mist out of the flame. He brought the strange haze close to Lúthien’s chest. She realized that Melkor had extracted the heat from the flame’s very essence and was manipulating it to his will. Far from burning her, the heat was warm and quite intoxicating. She sighed as it enveloped her breasts and tingled along her skin. Melkor moved the haze across her body into the juncture between her legs, suffusing her with a warmth that made her cry out.  
  
It felt as though she were making love to fire itself. And the feeling was unearthly and amazing.  
  
Looking over in ecstasy, Lúthien saw that Melkor had brought some of the haze against Beren’s nipples. Bringing his head downward, Melkor began to suck Beren’s straining cock with undisguised enjoyment.  
  
It wasn’t long before they were all lost.  
  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
Such was the time Beren and Lúthien spent in Angband. Their companionship with Melkor was well-known in the fortress, impossible as it was to hide. None objected or even interfered. This was mostly because the mortals’ presence improved Melkor’s mood considerably and no one wanted to challenge that. In fact, many creatures found life in Angband to improve overall, for Maiar and lowliest snaga alike. This was true even for some of the enslaved prisoners, (though not, sadly, for Hurin father of Turin. This unfortunate man had been released before Beren and Lúthien arrived for the second time).  
  
Moreover, Melkor’s state of mind itself was noticeably different because of the attention he received at the hands of his two lovers. To begin with, they only referred to him as ‘Melkor,’ even though that was not his name in Sindarin. Lúthien did this because the name Morgoth was unsuitable to her. This Vala was no longer an enemy of hers personally and so that was not how she would call him. Also, Lúthien recognized the part of him that had once been the most powerful being ever to exist (though that time was so long ago it was hard to think of as reality). That being was, of course, He who Arises in Might. Beren noticed the way his wife referred to their new lover and he followed her example.  
  
Because of this, Melkor remembered his old strength. There was also a new feeling, one that he could not describe. It had something to do with the way his body fit perfectly between Beren’s and Lúthien’s...the way that they shared with him things they felt without shame and so he was moved to do the same...the way that he could not bear to think of them sharing themselves with anyone else...how they belonged to him, but not in a way that allowed him to dominate them. They simply gave themselves to him without giving up any part of their own nature. And he was again moved to do the same.  
  
In this way, Melkor was granted a fair more number of years of sanity and rational thought that he otherwise would have had naught of.  
  
__________________________________________________________________  
  
But of course, life for Beren and Lúthien went on. They journeyed back to Tol Galen after a while. The Green-elves were completely aghast at how pale and wild they looked after their extended time away. Beren and Lúthien laughed it off. Their souls would forever be wandering souls, they explained, and the world was a wide, mysterious place. This was more true than they had meant it to be.    
  
They made the journey back to Angband on some occasions. Melkor always feigned disinterest at first when they returned, but his body could not withstand to keep up the charade for too long.  
  
There was a particular kind of joy in absence and reunion, they realized.  
  
_________________________________________________________________  
  
Once, they tied him up.  
  
It was after a time when they had been away long, far too long for Melkor’s honest liking. So, as compensation, they bound his hands and feet, immobilizing him on the bed in his chamber. They blindfolded him as well.  
  
Being helpless under the hands of Beren and Lúthien was more arousing than Melkor would have ever admitted to anyone. Every sensation, every touch, was completely unexpected and, in a small way, shocking because he could not know when or where they would touch him next. This drove him wild. Melkor found himself coming without a hand to his cock, just from carefully timed touches that sent him reeling.  
  
Seeing the Dark Lord trussed and desperate for them naturally was very exciting for Lúthien and Beren as well. They continued to touch him, licking him in spots that they knew had the most effect. They teased and tantalized Melkor, bringing him to orgasm repeatedly, until the Vala was in shambles.  
  
“Mercy...” he stammered eventually, after losing track of how many times he had come. They knew he had had enough. Not for any small feat would Melkor beg for mercy from anyone, even them.  
  
So they untied him. Beren cleaned the Vala’s body carefully, almost reverently, as Melkor lay utterly exhausted, unable to lift a hand to his own aid.  
  
When Lúthien removed the blindfold, she saw that it was wet with tears. Melkor had been to the edge and back, it seemed. She delighted in such a thing and promptly thanked whatever gods or powers or spirits were responsible for allowing this to be a part of their lives.  
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
Eventually, Lúthien found herself with child. She and Beren stayed in Doriath for a while so that she could endure the pregnancy with the help of the Menegroth healers, under her own mother’s care as well.  
  
After Dior was born, they made the journey back to Angband to share their happiness as new parents with Melkor. Even though they knew that it was impossible for Melkor to have fathered Dior, the Vala could not beget in the strictest sense of the word after all, they liked to think that he had still been a part of the conception nonetheless. As if Dior were somehow the product of the union between the three of them, logic be damned. Maybe it was the way Dior was born with coal-black eyes, unlike Lúthien or Beren or any other child the healers in Menegroth had ever seen...  
  
“Melkor,” Lúthien said, cradling her infant son in her arms. “This is Dior.”  
  
“Already people are calling him Eluchil, Thingol’s heir,” Beren added.  
  
Lúthien offered the Vala the chance to hold him and Melkor nodded, keeping his face apathetic. Wordlessly, Melkor held Dior between his hands. He scrutinized the infant’s face without saying anything for a while. For his part, Dior squirmed nonchalantly, completely unfazed at being held aloft by the Dark Lord himself.  
  
Eventually, Melkor frowned. He passed Dior back to Lúthien and said, in a voice that showed he was irritated, “This child is intelligent, you can see it in his eyes. He is no heir of Thingol. What nonsense...”  
  
Beren smiled at the comment, agreeing in his heart about how the name did not fit, but Lúthien shook her head.  
  
Beyond that, Melkor had no opinion. It seemed there was not much to say or do about the subject, Dior’s presence was simply a fact that called upon the natural order of things. Yet, Melkor cared not at all for the offspring of mortals. He harbored no sense of affection for the child. And why should he?  
  
That was the last time Lúthien and Beren journeyed to Angband for many years.    
  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
With time, Dior’s eyes eventually faded into a soft hazel color, very similar to Beren’s own. While he was growing up, Beren and Lúthien found themselves unable to do any venturing outside of Tol Galen, completely consumed as they were with the business of raising a child. Their lives settled for a while as they fell into the routine of being a family.  
  
Dior aged, passing into young adulthood before their eyes. They aged as well, but they did not notice as much. Time seemed a strange fixture in their lives, moving them forward without any deference to what they had done in the past or would do in the future. Years came and went without event.  
  
That is, until the matter of the Silmaril came into their lives again. It so happened that Beren was called to Doriath after the Nauglimir became a source of violence in the kingdom. So, the man took his son and group of Green-elves to Menegroth, not knowing what they would find when they got there.  
  
Lúthien knew. She had always known that they were not free of the Silmaril, that it would haunt them. She had hated the fact that her father coveted that jewel.  
  
Now Beren returned from Doriath, wrecked and distraught, hands shaking and eyes unsettled. He confessed to his wife on how he had killed Naugrim, how Thingol was dead, and how Dior had been called to be the next king of the realm. Then he showed her the Silmaril, which was now in their possession for safe-keeping.  
  
Lúthien cursed herself again. So this was their fate.  
  
Saying nothing, she pulled the necklace on, letting it lay against her throat in the most obvious way possible. If she was to watch over this wretched jewel, then she would bear it as it was meant to be borne: In plain sight, where all who looked upon it could gaze in wonder. That’s what this jewel was made for, a product of Fëanor’s desire for unending attention.  
  
So it was.  
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
The Silmaril aged them quickly. Lúthien and Beren felt themselves drained, lacking energy for things that they had once enjoyed, losing touch with the vitality of the land that had sustained them for so long.  
  
Eventually Lúthien realized that she was dying. She felt like she had aged five years for every one that had passed since the necklace came to them. Her neck and face were wrinkled but her hands remained strong, a strange discrepancy that belied the presence of forces other than nature affecting her body. She could not ignore it, nor could she abide it.  
  
“Beren,” she said one day. “I cannot continue. Not like this.” She pulled at the necklace in distress.  
  
Beren understood. Neither of them wanted to die this way, not after everything they had seen and done in life.  
  
So they came up with a plan. They would send the necklace to Dior, let him watch over it while he could. Their son was strong, and intelligent. He would know to be practical with it. Once the Silmaril was sent, everyone in Doriath would take it as a sign that Beren and Lúthien had passed. The elves would mourn them as dead. Then, only then, could be they be free to die on their own terms. They could disappear, a welcome thought.  
  
They knew exactly where they would go.  
  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
This journey to Angband was the most difficult by far. They found themselves moving more slowly, taking longer than they ever had before, unable to exert themselves as they used to.    
  
They had known this was going to be their last trip to the northern fortress. But as the road wore on and they passed into the more harrowing areas of the journey, they wondered if they would ever come back.  
  
Once, Beren lost his footing on the ice in the mountains, fumbling in a spot that he should have known to avoid. Lúthien thought she had lost him. Alas no, Beren merely took a hard fall, nothing more.  
  
Whatever awaited them in Angband, whatever happened to them after that, Beren and Lúthien realized that it was out of their hands.  
  
They arrived in Angband after many long months. They were haggard and weary, barely able to stay standing as Melkor surveyed them from the seat of his throne. He had not seen them since Dior was born and much had passed in the interim.  
  
Breathlessly, taking many breaks, they told the Vala everything. Melkor listened impassably, nodding or shaking his head at various parts. When the story was done, they just stood there, suddenly unsure of what Melkor would do now that they could do nothing in their own defense.  
  
Finally, after a tense moment of silence, Melkor sighed.  
  
“I knew you would come,” he said eventually. He had not aged a day since they last saw him, of course, but there was something different about him all the same. Beren and Lúthien did not know what it was.  
“Follow me.”  
  
Melkor led the two of them down further than they had ever been in the fortress. They passed forges and realized that they must be below Thangorodrim, in the very depths of the mountain where molten lava dwelled.  
  
They followed Melkor into the darkness of the mountain, until it was dark enough that they could barely see. The way was lighted by only small cracks of lava that ran through the walls. It was hot, stifling even. Beren and Lúthien grasped hands in the darkness, willing themselves to face whatever it was Melkor had designed for them.  
  
Finally, the Vala stopped. He turned to face an area where the cavern walls fell away into pure blackness. Silently, Melkor held out his hand to that blackness.  
  
Lúthien and Beren heard a rumbling as of something large beginning to move. For a moment they trembled in fear at the thought that the volcano would erupt...but then they heard a loud exhale, the sound of a creature breathing, and then a deep-throated grumble that could only come from a beast larger than what should have been possible.  
  
With the slithering sound of scales moving against the ground, a reptilian face emerged from the shadows. Its face was almost as large as the cavern itself. And it was unmistakable...  
  
A dragon. Lúthien and Beren huddled closer, taking a collective step back in wonder and terror.  
  
“Belfelagar,” Melkor said, completely unmoved even as the ground shook beneath them with each step. The dragon came up to him and rested its head against Melkor’s outstretched hand. Its large golden eyes closed in pleasure.  
  
Melkor turned around and regarded Lúthien and Beren. He took no notice of their fear and instead gestured to them to come closer.  
  
Did they dare? This was a dragon, after all, one of the deadliest creature to ever crawl the surface of Arda. But then, what did they have to lose? They had no hope of ever leaving this place on their own. And after all, this was one of Melkor’s creatures...  
  
Slowly, they moved towards the Vala and his dragon. When they were close enough, Melkor took Lúthien’s hand and placed it on the dragon’s head alongside his own. Her instinctual reaction was to pull away in fear, but Melkor held her hand firmly in place.  
  
When he felt her touch, the dragon opened its eyes and stared directly at Lúthien. After a few seconds had passed, the dragon blinked slowly. Then it closed its eyes again in apparent indifference to her presence.  
  
Lúthien sighed in relief. Her terror faded away until she was filled with wonder. She and Beren had never come across a dragon before and, without fear of being eaten in one gulp, it was actually quite the sight...  
  
Lúthien turned to Melkor and smiled. The Vala was watching her. An expression of pride flashed on his face, but Lúthien could not read it because it was very brief.  
  
“His name is Belfelagar,” Melkor explained. Beren came over and put his own hand on the creature’s head. Belfelagar barely stirred this time. They looked at each in amazement and began petting the dragon appreciatively.  
  
Melkor stepped away. “He will guide you where you need to go.”  
  
Now Beren and Lúthien regarded the Vala once more. He was looking away from them.  
  
“Where do we need to go?” asked Beren.  
  
Melkor sighed. “You are old now.” To emphasize, he pointed to grey hairs and wrinkles on the faces of the two he had come to know so well.  
  
“The old do not last long. That’s the natural way, isn’t it?”  
  
Lúthien and Beren had nothing to say to that. It was true, but then, they had always accepted that. Melkor seemed pained, as if it were a realization he was unwilling to admit.  
  
“That is Eru’s design,” Melkor continued, meeting their gaze but dropping his voice to a low grumble. “Mortals have limited life. When they age, they weaken beyond a point that is tolerable...until death. Eternal life is not what you want, you have made that clear. So fine.” He threw his hands up frustratedly. “But...I will not...see you harmed.” He rushed through the last part, as was his way at times when he struggled to admit the truth.  
  
Lúthien heard his words. She also heard everything that he was not saying. So, she approached him and gently put her hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Melkor,” she said, voice quivering with emotion. “Thank you.”  
  
This was everything they wanted, a chance of freedom. Before the end.  
  
Melkor looked back at her. He seemed somehow disappointed, as if he had expected her to say something else, maybe to forsake their mortal path finally and choose power...but no. The Vala shook his head and continued.  
  
“Belfelagar will protect you with all his might. And I have told him where to take you so that you will not be bothered by the likes of your kind...” Melkor eyed Belfelagar sternly. The dragon blinked once. An agreement?  
  
Melkor gestured to the dragon and it walked out of the shadows until its whole body was visible. Glittering red scales with black spikes, Belfelagar was a dragon who had resided in the volcano, thriving in the stifling heat. Warmth and thin smoke radiated off of his scales where other dragons had miasma or dark magic.  
  
“He will allow you to ride him,” Melkor said. “Go now.”  
  
Beren and Lúthien looked at each other once, nodding silently. They should move quickly, lingering would only make it harder.  
  
Beren was the first to move. He stopped in front of Melkor and they shared a long stare, something passing between them that had been there for some time. Beren kissed Melkor on the cheek, thought better of it, then moved back in and kissed him fully on the lips. When he was done, Beren approached Belfelagar to begin the awkward process of trying to mount the beast.  
  
Lúthien stood in of Melkor for a long time. Eventually, she leaned in close to him and whispered something in his ear. A look of shock passed over Melkor’s face, then it faded into revelation. Lúthien smiled, kissed him softly on the lips, then turned away.  
  
With one twitch of Belfelgar’s giant wing, Lúthien was flung onto his back. She landed gracefully behind Beren, who had had a much harder time of managing that.  
  
The dragon ambled towards the end of the cavern. Melkor said something to him in a language that was not human in any way. Belfelagar reared his head and shivered, either in pleasure or pain it was unclear.  
  
As the beast begin to prepare for flight, Lúthien and Beren looked back at Melkor. Lúthien wanted to say so much to him, about how it meant everything to her that their lives had been intertwined in such a way, all because of that one time, that crazy, pointless quest... She had no time, so she simply held out her hand to the Vala, thinking irrationally that she might offer something at least, something that made no sense...  
  
But Belfelagar took to flight and the moment was gone. Before they could orient themselves, he had taken to the air, bearing them upwards and out of Thangorodrim through some tunnel near its peak. The sensation of flight was foreign and overwhelming, so for a while they could do nothing but hold onto the dragon for purchase.  
  
Melkor watched them ascend. When they were out of sight, he began making his way back to the fortress. Each step was a limp, the pain more acute suddenly than he was used to. On his head he wore the crown, but it bore down upon his head a bit more heavily than usual. His hand burned as ever it would.  
  
This body is ruined, he thought. But at least it had known love in its time.  
  
______________________________________________________________  
  
Belfelagar carried them south and east. They saw the world below them pass like drawings on a map and it was fascinating. The dragon took them over the Ered Lindon, beyond the eastern-most mountains into some unexplored territory. Here the land was wild, but there was a beautiful quality to it as well. As if it had remained somehow untouched by all the strife in Beleriand.  
  
They landed in a clearing. Now they had no hope of ever knowing where they were and likewise no one would ever find them. The only fear was of the unknown, whatever could be lurking in these strange forests. But one look at Belfelagar and those fears were silenced.  
  
“We are grateful to you, oh mighty dragon,” Lúthien said to the creature. “Will you help us still? These lands are foreign to us and your presence is a blessing.” She knew that this is what Melkor had wanted, but now that they were out of Angband she wanted to be sure of the creature’s allegiance.  
  
Belfelagar breathed through his nostrils, letting off some excess steam. They waited for an answer for a long time, until they were unsure if he could speak at all. Finally he spoke. A low, shaking tone that made their eyes widen at the strangely melodious quality of it.  
  
“Yes,” Belfelagar said at last. “I will stay with you. Lord Melkor has decreed this and so it shall be.” After a pause, where his golden eyes sized the two of them up with scrutiny, he spoke again, “And what else, you two will not last long on your own.”  
  
It was blunt, but honest. In time, they would come to truly appreciate Belfelagar. He rarely spoke and that reminded them of Huan, which was comforting. Besides, the creature was extremely useful for hunting as well as transportation. Whatever they needed, the dragon was there to provide. And they were kind to him, such that Belfelagar came to respect them in his own way.  
  
Time passed, but there was no way to know how much. Lúthien and Beren grew older, more frail with each passing day it seemed. They were not overjoyed at this slow withering process, but life in the forest suited them. Being in the wilderness again was a pleasure and their final days were spent in contentment.  
  
“What did you say to him, before we left?” Beren asked his wife one day.  
  
She looked back at Beren confidently. “I said it for both of us,” she replied.  
  
Beren nodded. He figured as much. Now, he said the same words back to her. “I love you.”  
  
They did not live to see the second age, nor even the end of the reign of Doriath. When Beren’s hair was completely white and Lúthien’s had gone grey to the last, they finally laid down to rest.  
  
Belfelagar sensed what was happening. He had often allowed them to lean against his body for warmth, wrapping them in his wings to protect against the elements. He did so then just the same, holding them close so that they were at ease. And so when they passed, they rested against the dragon, rising and falling with each mighty breath. Cradled in his wings, they felt safe.  
  
Beren grasped Lúthien’s hand a final time. The rest just felt like falling asleep to one of Lúthien’s old songs, a sultry tune indeed...his Tinuviel, so dark and fair.  
  
Lúthien felt the end coming. She heard familiar voices calling her back to the Halls. She would go, gladly. Her body felt so warm. It was a warmth she recognized, as of fire, but not deadly to the touch...she could not remember where she had felt it now, but it was so pleasant...  
  
So ended their journey, mysterious and wonderful as it was.  
  
  
  
  
  
The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering where I came up with the name Belfelagar: It is a variation/Tolkein-ized version of Belphegor, a commonly reference Judeo-Christian demon. Because all demons are lovable in my stories. Yeah.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading this (slightly out there) story! If you're wondering what on earth you just read, I tip my hat to you for making it through to the end. I got an unreasonable amount of joy from writing this, so kudos to anon and to the fandom at large, as always.


End file.
